


Cloth Armour

by a_chilleus



Series: Cloth Armour Series [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sensory Overload, arthur doesn't get it at first, autistic Merlin, comfort items, merlin is autistic except that word didn't exist in medieval times, platonic but can be read as romantic if you like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22743007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_chilleus/pseuds/a_chilleus
Summary: He brushed his hand over the smooth metal of the freshly polished helmet, smiling at the cool texture, before picking up the breastplate. He carefully wiped the mud off the shoulders, revelling in the soft swish sound of the cloth against the metal, moving slowly simply to draw out the satisfying sound for longer. There was no hurry.--
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Cloth Armour Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653442
Comments: 10
Kudos: 138





	Cloth Armour

Merlin sat on the stone floor of the armoury, polishing the helmet Arthur had worn for his last jousting tournament. The late afternoon sun through the narrow windows fell in golden lines against the floor and warmed his shoulders. He enjoyed this time alone, when the only sounds were the swiping of the cloth, the birds in the trees, and the low braying of the horses in the stables nearby. Arthur and the knights were on a hunting trip; Merlin had been left behind, since Arthur had decided the new stablehand would likely be better at the whole stealth thing. The knights should be back in a couple of hours, but for now the palace surroundings were quiet. Gaius had gone to deliver a poultice to a woman in the village, leaving Merlin with a list of tasks to do after he was done with Arthur’s armour, but Merlin didn’t mind being busy, not when his surroundings were so calm. He brushed his hand over the smooth metal of the freshly polished helmet, smiling at the cool texture, before picking up the breastplate. He carefully wiped the mud off the shoulders, revelling in the soft _swish_ sound of the cloth against the metal, moving slowly simply to draw out the satisfying sound for longer. There was no hurry.

“Merlin?”

He looked up. Gwen was stood in the doorway, a basket of laundry on her hip. Merlin smiled at her and nodded in greeting, then went back to cleaning. The breastplate was clean, but it was the final component of the armour and he wasn’t ready to stop hearing the lovely _swish_ , so he gently wiped the cloth over it again. Gwen sat down next to him.

“That looks like it’s finished.”

“I know.”

Gwen looked at him curiously, but her expression was fond. She watched him clean in silence for a few minutes.

“I was on my way to drop off these,” she gestured to the basket. “It’s my last job until this evening. The knights will be back soon… I was wondering if you wanted help with your last few jobs. You always seem to have more to do than me.” She spoke quickly, as if shy, but Merlin knew her better than that – she didn’t want him to think she thought him incapable.

“I’d appreciate the company,” he replied quietly. “Gaius wants me to sort out his books.”

“I’ll meet you there in a few minutes,” she said, standing up and heading for the door, before turning round at the last moment. “You’re ok, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” She turned and walked out into the courtyard. Merlin put away the armour and gathered his cleaning supplies, smiling softly. Gwen may think him odd, but she accepted his quiet moods without taking his lack of conversation as a sign of rudeness, and for that he was grateful.

\--

“When will Gaius get back?” Gwen asked, perched on the edge of the heavy wooden desk as Merlin dusted the ancient bookshelves.

“Depends how Sarah is doing,” Merlin replied. “He might be a while if her infection has worsened.”

“I hope she’s ok,” Gwen sighed. She sat on the floor next to Merlin and began to move the various books on the floor into piles. “Gaius knows what he’s doing, though, I’m sure.”

Merlin nodded. He picked his way through the piles of books until he found the largest ones, which he began replacing on the bottom shelf. The dust made him sneeze, and by the time he had finished replacing all the books he and Gwen were both sneezing and laughing loudly.

“Not having too much fun in there, I hope?” Gaius’ voice startled them, and Gwen stood up quickly.

“Gaius!” Gwen exclaimed. “I wanted to ask you about something…”

Merlin half listened to their conversation – something about a mother in the village who was concerned about her child acting oddly – as he moved onto the next task on his list. He hardly noticed how absorbed he had become in relabelling ingredient bottles until he was startled out of his focused state by Gwen calling his name.

“Oh, sorry,” he mumbled.

“This is exactly what I meant,” Gaius said, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” Merlin stared at him, stiffening slightly.

“This… disappearing,” Gaius said, “not noticing your surroundings, whatever it is that’s going on in your head at times.” He shook his head, and Gwen laughed.

“There’s a child in the village – a young girl, about eight,” she explained, “who does the same thing.”

“Oh, I see,” Merlin was still confused. He looked between Gwen and Gaius hesitantly.

“She’s a lot like you in other ways,” Gaius said, “so I think when I see her mother next I can reassure her that there’s nothing to worry about – so long as she’s kept an eye on.” He pursed his lips as if in irritation, but his eyes twinkled, and Merlin relaxed a little again as he realised he wasn’t actually being criticised.

“Right…” Merlin said.

“Her mother was concerned there was something wrong with her,” Gwen said, before hastily adding, “but I think she’s assuming the worst – her child may be unusual, but that doesn’t mean she’s ill.”

“So how else is she like me?” Merlin asked. There weren’t many people like him, at least that was what his mother had always told him. When he first arrived in Camelot he had asked Gaius if it was because of his magic, but there was no particular precedent for magic users to be strange in the ways he was strange. _You’re unusual, Merlin,_ Gaius had said, _but I think that’s just who you are._

“She wears the same clothes every day – she screams if her mother tries to make her wear something different,” Gwen said. “Not that you scream, obviously, but it reminds me of how I rarely see you without that scarf. And she refuses to speak for long periods of time. Her mother gets angry, thinks she’s being rude, but I think maybe the girl just can’t speak. It apparently mostly happens when she’s upset.”

Merlin nodded thoughtfully.

“It reminds me of when you go quiet all day, and you don’t seem upset but I can tell you’re just… not feeling talkative. I don’t really understand it, because you’re usually so chatty, but…” Gwen shrugged. “I think it’s a bit more for this girl though, I mean it sounds like she actually couldn’t even if she wanted to.”

“No, I… I think I understand,” Merlin said. Gaius cocked his head and Merlin looked away, embarrassed.

“The biggest thing, though,” Gwen said, noting Merlin’s discomfort and moving on quickly, “was that she never made eye contact. Not even with her mother.”

“So people thought she was suspicious,” Gaius said. “Maybe I should tell the child what I told you when you first arrived here – to look at their noses or their eyebrows instead.”

“Do you do that?” Gwen asked Merlin.

“Not with you, so much,” he replied. “I do with Arthur, and Uther – anyone who would think I was rude if I didn’t. Gaius said my lack of eye contact looked… shifty.”

“I said it _might_ , to an uncharitable eye,” Gaius said.

Merlin was about to reply when there was a knock at Gaius’ door. Another servant entered, the new stablehand whom Merlin recognised but didn’t know the name of yet.

“Prince Arthur told me to fetch Merlin,” he said, a little nervously. “They’re back early.”

\--

Arthur was in a bad mood. Merlin didn’t ask why; he could tell by the distinct lack of deer carcases, of which there would usually be several brought back from a hunt like this, before what was supposed to be a big feast welcoming some guests Merlin never bothered to learn about. The thought of such a big feast made him anxious, and he removed the saddle and bridle in silence, watching nervously as Arthur frowned at the horse as if it had personally wronged him.

“The new boy – Henry – he’s even worse than you,” Arthur said. “He scared away every single bloody animal we saw.”

“Serves you right for trying to replace me,” Merlin tried for a joke, but Arthur just glared at him.

“Shut up Merlin,” he said. He shoved his hunting gear at Merlin and stalked off into the palace. Merlin led the horse to the stables, where he found Sir Leon unbridling his horse.

“Do you want me to do that?” Merlin asked.

“No, Merlin, thank you,” Leon replied. “You have enough there to get on with. Henry was supposed to do it, but I think Arthur scared the poor boy off. He’s only young.”

“He’ll get the hang of it, I’m sure,” Merlin said. “It took me a while.”

“I don’t know if you were ever that bad,” Leon laughed. “You should have seen Henry trying to be quiet – I think he stepped on every twig in the forest before Arthur shouted at him loud enough to scare away any animals that remained in the forest.” He finished what he was doing and leant against the wall. Merlin finished tying up Arthur’s horse, and was about to go when Leon called him back. Merlin stood awkwardly with his arms still full of Arthur’s hunting stuff, alternating between looking at Leon’s left eyebrow and his nose. 

“If you see Henry, can you keep an eye on him?” Leon thought for a moment. “Just, you know, make sure he’s doing his job properly and try and shield him from Arthur’s wrath until he gets the hang of things.”

“Um, ok,” Merlin said. He stood for a moment, unsure if he was supposed to say anything else. Leon looked at him a little oddly, before nodding and walking past him out into the now dark courtyard. Merlin sighed and went to put away Arthur’s stuff. 

\--

The feast was plentiful despite Arthur’s lack of hunting success. Merlin went around topping up wine glasses, pulling faces at Gwen every time they passed each other in the hall, until he saw a nobleman glare at him. The hall was getting busier and louder, and Merlin sighed; it was going to be a long evening.

“Merlin, take that stupid scarf off,” Arthur yanked at the fabric as Merlin bent to top up his glass, nearly causing him to spill wine.

“I’d rather not, sire,” Merlin muttered.

“You look disgraceful,” Arthur said. “All the other servants are wearing the official tabard and have cleaned up nicely for the occasion, and you’re in these rags as usual.”

“The tabard isn’t required,” Merlin responded.

“Technically not, no, but looking presentable is expected,” Arthur said. Merlin was about to retort, but stopped himself as Uther leant over to speak to his son. Merlin moved on quickly.

When he had made his way around the long table, he went to the kitchen to refill his pitcher. The kitchen was even louder than the hall, and he winced at the piercing sounds of metal utensils scraping on plates. The cooks were running around frantically trying to get the next course finished, shouting across the room. Merlin gritted his teeth, filled the pitcher, then left as fast as he could. As he began his next circuit round the table, he caught Arthur’s eye across the room. Arthur gestured to his neck and raised an eyebrow. Merlin shook his head. Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

\--

The noise in the hall was getting louder, as the noblemen got drunker and rowdier. The guests of honour were particularly loud, and Merlin stayed as far as from them as he could, barely managing not to cover his ears whenever Lord Athelard laughed. Instead he shifted his shoulders to feel the soft fabric of his scarf move against his neck, and rubbed his thumb on the cold metal serving dish. The tactile sensation helped to mitigate the tension in his body caused by the noise, but it wasn’t enough. By the time he had reached Arthur again, he was having to concentrate hard to keep his hands from shaking too much to pour the wine. He leant down, hoping no one had noticed how shallow his breathing was becoming, but before he could begin to pour he saw Arthur’s hand move upwards out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly his scarf had been pulled from his neck. He gasped, and his grip on the pitcher loosened, spilling wine across the table. He froze. Arthur had stuffed the scarf into his pocket, and the laughter of the nearby nobles bore into his skull, the bareness of his neck making him feel even more vulnerable to the painful sounds.

“Merlin, for fuck’s sake,” Arthur sighed. “You’re embarrassing.”

Merlin tried to will his body to move, but his limbs wouldn’t obey his brain. He felt his eyes prick with tears. The sounds around him were blurring into one, churning inside his chest. Arthur was speaking to him, and someone – possibly Uther – was yelling, but the words made no sense. He felt someone take the silver tray and pitcher from him, and the same person pushed past him; he managed to step backwards as Gwen cleaned up the spilt wine. She tried to pull him away, but her touch on his arm felt like fire and he tore it away, taking shaky steps backwards until his back hit the stone wall. He put his hand up to his neck and blinked at Arthur, who was looking at him with his brow furrowed. The rest of the nobles had gone back to their conversations, and Lord Athelard’s voice boomed above the rest, making Merlin’s stomach clench tightly.

“Merlin!” Gwen finally got his attention, and he turned to her, blinking owlishly. He tried to apologise, but the words wouldn’t come. Her eyes were wide, and she reached out to him, but he pulled away. “Merlin, what’s wrong?” He shook his head, unable to explain.

“Gwen!” Morgana called over from where she was sat to the right of Lord Athelard. Gwen looked over, then took a last look at Merlin, bit her lip, and hurried to attend to Morgana. Merlin took a few deep breaths, steadying himself against the wall, holding his palm flat against the cold stone. Arthur was talking to his father, and Merlin closed his eyes against the dizzying business of the crowded room.

“Hey, you, get back to work,” a servant muttered as she walked past him, and Merlin did his best to collect himself. He went to where Gwen was serving another noble and took back his tray and pitcher, trying to smile at her but mostly failing. She gave him a worried look but mercifully didn’t ask him any questions.

\--

By the time the feast was over, Merlin felt like his entire body was screaming. His head was spinning, and every sound pierced into his chest like a knife. He replaced the tray and pitcher in the kitchen then ran from the hall, desperate to be alone. He heard Arthur calling his name but kept running, relief flooding his body as the cool outside air hit his skin. He stopped at the far edge of the courtyard, and leant his forehead on the stone wall. He breathed deeply, bunching his left hand in his shirt and trying not to cry. He hummed quietly, focusing on the vibrations in his throat. It helped, at least a little. After a few minutes of this, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Merlin, I – ” Arthur stopped as he saw Merlin flinch hard. “My room. Now.”

Merlin turned to face him, blinking back tears. He couldn’t read Arthur’s face, couldn’t tell whether the frown was concern or anger.

They walked silently across the courtyard. The palace was still bustling with people, and Merlin dragged his feet as they approached. Arthur walked ahead but kept turning to look at Merlin, as if checking he was still there. Merlin decided the look on his face wasn’t anger, given that Arthur tended to shout when he was angry and he hadn’t yet said a word.

Lord Athelard’s laughter reverberated through the corridor, and Merlin twisted his hands tighter into his shirt. It wasn’t the same fabric as his scarf, and his neck still felt painfully bare.

\--

Merlin stood awkwardly in front of the doorway, hands still twisted in his shirt, eyes cast downwards. Arthur looked at him for a moment, then shut the door and headed to his desk. As he did so, his arm caught a metal candlestick, which fell to the floor with a loud clattering noise. The sound went straight to Merlin’s core, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Merlin!”

Suddenly, he felt something pushed into his hands. The texture was familiar – the soft, comforting fabric of his red scarf. He curled it around his fingers and buried his face in it, breathing heavily.

“Sit down, Merlin,” Arthur said quietly, and Merlin looked up from the scarf to see Arthur gesturing to the bed. Merlin went and sat down hesitantly on the edge of the bed, and Arthur sat beside him. Neither spoke for a minute, until Arthur took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken your belongings from you. I… I didn’t mean to make you spill the wine, and I shouldn’t have insulted you in front of my father and our guests when it was my fault for startling you.”

Merlin was silent. He had draped the scarf back around his neck as Arthur was speaking, and he had gone back to fiddling with his shirt hem as he tried to make his body forget the sound of the fallen candlestick.

“Merlin?” Arthur looked at him searchingly, and Merlin looked over his left shoulder to avoid having to look at his face. “You never make eye contact, you know.” Merlin nodded. “You always look… well, at my face, anywhere but my actual eyes. If it was anyone else I’d find it suspicious, but… I know you better than that. Or I thought I did.” He paused. Merlin bit his lip. Arthur waited for Merlin to say something, but no words came, so he continued. “I’ve noticed the way your jaw clenches when my knife scrapes my plate while I eat. I’ve noticed the way you flinch when someone touches you unexpectedly. I should have realised how difficult a feast like that must be for you. I don’t understand it… you’re not a coward, however much I tease you, so it can’t be fear…”

Merlin shook his head. It wasn’t fear. He wished he could find the words to explain himself to Arthur, or even just to accept his apology, but words weren’t forthcoming.

“Are you… upset with me?” Arthur asked, hesitantly. Merlin shook his head again, but then sighed. He didn’t know if he was upset with Arthur. All he knew was that he could hear shrill voices outside Arthur’s open window, that there was a lit candle flickering out of the corner of his eye that made his head hurt.

“Why aren’t you answering me, Merlin?” Arthur sounded frustrated and Merlin tensed again. “Hey… I’m not angry with you,” Arthur whispered. “You don’t need to tense up like that. I’m just… worried about you.”

The pair sat in silence for another minute.

“What do you need?” Arthur asked, finally. “Clearly something’s wrong. What do you need?”

Merlin opened his mouth, but again no words would come. Instead, he stood up and shut the window, then blew out the annoying candle, so that the only light came from a torch on the other side of the room.

“Darkness?” Arthur asked, confused. Merlin nodded. He sat down again. “Are you ill?” Merlin shook his head. “Will it bother you if I touch you?” Merlin paused, then shook his head again. Arthur shifted closer to Merlin and carefully pulled Merlin towards him so that his head rested on Arthur’s shoulder.

The pair sat in silence for an hour or more, Merlin couldn’t tell. He gratefully listened to Arthur’s steady breathing, felt his cheek against the warmth of Arthur’s shoulder, and slowly the grip of his fingers on his shirt loosened. He felt Arthur’s hand rub gentle circles into his shoulders, the pressure just firm enough to be reassuring, and slow enough that nothing felt unexpected.

“Arthur…” Merlin said, finally. Arthur looked down at him in relief.

“Are you ok?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” It still took effort to speak, and Merlin closed his eyes.

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I embarrassed you.”

“I took your scarf and made you spill the wine. We’re even.”

“Ok.” Merlin sat up, and crawled to the edge of the bed, sitting cross-legged and pulling his scarf to cover more of his neck. He rocked ever so slightly back and forth, conscious that Arthur was looking at him curiously but also knowing that it made talking slightly easier.

“Merlin… can you tell me what happened? What made you freak out so badly?”

“It’s hard to explain. I’ve always been… strange.” Merlin looked up at Arthur, who was watching him intently. “I’ve always been overly sensitive to certain noises, like metal scraping and loud clanging and crowds of people. They pierce right through me, make my body feel like it’s filled to bursting and like I can’t focus. When people shout at me, I freeze up.”

“You seem to be able to take my teasing pretty well,” Arthur frowned.

“Only because I know you well, I know you’re teasing,” Merlin replied. “When you’re actually angry, like… like at the feast, I couldn’t tell if you were just teasing me or if you were seriously angry, and I was already feeling awful because Lord Athelard is so… not just loud, but it’s like his voice goes straight through me, and then there was the metallic sounds in the kitchen and all the shouting and it was too much.”

“Ok,” Arthur nodded thoughtfully.

“And then, when you took my scarf, it was like my final layer of protection had gone.” Merlin looked down again, afraid to see how Arthur might react to that admission. He knew it might not make sense to other people.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s like… when you pace in order to think more clearly,” Merlin said. “The movement kind of helps you tune out your other senses.”

“Huh… I’d never thought of it that way, but you’re right,” Arthur said.

“I’m not just sensitive to sounds, I’m sensitive to everything,” Merlin said. “And it goes both ways, good and bad. So stuff with really good textures, like my scarf, helps me tune out the bad sounds.”

“And I took it away from you…” Arthur sighed. “I’m sorry, Merlin.”

“It’s ok, you… you didn’t know,” Merlin said. It wasn’t ok, it wasn’t ok at all, but he wasn’t angry at Arthur for it anymore. He was just so tired.

“You look exhausted.”

Merlin nodded.

“We can talk more about this tomorrow,” Arthur said, smiling. “I want to understand the way your weird brain works, Merlin.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry it ends abruptly! I couldn't figure out the right line to end on...  
> I'm (undiagnosed but almost certainly) autistic, on the so-called high functioning end of the spectrum, which is where the idea for this fic came from. However, I tried to think how it would affect Merlin specifically rather than just writing a version of myself under his name, and in the process it's entirely possibly I've misjudged things, so if you're autistic and have any constructive criticism on my portrayal of an autistic character /please/ let me know! I don't want to misrepresent anything.  
> Anyway, autistic!Merlin is a headcanon that makes my heart happy, so I hope others enjoy it too :)


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